laundry . . we helped friends build a barn for their pregnant cow . . a friend's woodstove . . dinner . . roadkill moosemeat stew . . my pack . . 8 a.m., twelve below, the frozen river
The days are warmer now, nearly forty degrees! I hauled wood today in a t-shirt, sat for a moment in the sun on an old log. The snow is wetter, glowier, it shines like white glitter in the mornings. River says the birch trees look more alive but I haven’t noticed, I don’t know this … Continue reading for April
I took the insulation out of the sauna, ripped it out in big yellow strips, fiberglass sodden with squirrel pee. A rain of stuff came tumbling down around me like wood shavings from the chainsaws, but it was only all the world’s pinecone sepals. There were shelf fungus too, squirrel size, pulled from the birches … Continue reading counting
Little House in the Extensive Woods
We woke up early this morning in the little house in the extensive woods, at least early for us. Crack of nine a.m.! We had a pan of brownies to make, or rather River did, for Tod was coming from town with his chainsaw to “buck” some trees for us, pulled from the stacks of … Continue reading Little House in the Extensive Woods
The ogres and the woodpile, birch-bark, whitefish stew
The cabin where I am is whitewashed inside, not dark and low-roofed like the trapper cabins you see here and there in the woods, buried in snow drifts and hung with rusting, dull-edged tools. This cabin is a woodsmoke-white inside with a good window that faces the slough, four big panes rimmed with tinsel-frost in … Continue reading The ogres and the woodpile, birch-bark, whitefish stew
where I am
I am not afraid to admit that I am afraid of frostbite
I’m in Alaska. I’m almost to my destination! I’m in a hotel room with the heat way up, washing my dirty t-shirts in the tub. Tomorrow I hitch the last 200 miles! I think the Canadian gods played a cruel joke on me today, on account of my pretentious blog title. Not afraid of winter, … Continue reading I am not afraid to admit that I am afraid of frostbite
Slow. the fuck. down.
I’m in hotel in Whitehorse, with the couple I’ve been traveling with and a new ride, a young man from Colorado, he’s got a job on the pipeline, was driving to Anchorage straight from seattle without sleep, almost didn’t stop at all until we told him we’d spring for this hotel room. He was shooting … Continue reading Slow. the fuck. down.
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